


A Slice of Dominion's

by propheticfire



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deep Dish Nine, Hilarity Ensues, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9786869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propheticfire/pseuds/propheticfire
Summary: Set in the Deep Dish Nine AU which originated on tumblr. This aims to be a collection of (slightly connected) one-shots illustrating the amusing goings-on of Deep Dish Nine's arch-rival, Dominion's Pizza. Three stories now! And a little something from the holidays. More to come as the mood strikes me.





	1. Portraits

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for the delightful Deep Space Nine AU, Deep Dish Nine, which originated on tumblr. The basic premise is that DS9 the station is now DD9 the pizza joint, on Earth, approximately now-ish and not in the future, where everyone is human. Different species have now become different ethnicities, and everyone does something vaguely analogous to their canonical job (e.g. Sisko runs the joint, O’Brien fixes everything, Julian is a med student, etc.). Deep Dish Nine’s rival is Dominion’s Drugs––er, PIZZA (run by the mysterious Founder; Dukat manages the chain closest to Deep Dish Nine). Since most of the lovely fic already written is centered around Deep Dish Nine, and since I have an overwhelming love for Dukat and Damar (and Garak, and basically Cardassians in general, but whatever), I thought I would write a bit from the Dominion’s side of things.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this particular story, Dukat finds his daughter’s artwork a bit unusual. (Some of the art described here I just made up, and some of it I based on existing DD9 stories, but most of it actually exists on the DD9 tumblr, and it’s fabulous and amazing.)

“Ziyal, I’m concerned about these pictures.”

Dukat sat in the living room of his posh Cardassia Heights home, his daughter beside him. The spring sun streamed through the tall windows, thrown open to welcome the fresh and inviting outside air. Birds sang their cheerful songs, somewhere in the distance a child was laughing, and a sweet smell drifted from the kitchen, where the housekeeper was—on Dukat’s orders—preparing a special lunch. The smile on Ziyal’s face announced that it was a very pleasant day indeed.

Dukat was not happy.

When he’d heard the news that his daughter would be coming home from the university for the weekend, Dukat could not have been more pleased. Throw open the doors, he’d said, tie back the curtains, this house has been shut up for far too long. Make it sparkle from top to bottom. I want it to shine for my daughter! She deserves nothing but the best—and make her something wonderful to eat while you’re at it. Whatever they’re feeding her at school _must_ be _appalling_. Dukat had hoped, secretly, that this show of dotage and generosity would convince Ziyal to return home for good. The dorms were no place for a fine young lady such as herself, and she visited far less often than Dukat would have liked.

Yet now, with Ziyal seated on the sofa beside him, her final term project spread out before them on the coffee table, the warm welcome he’d so carefully prepared seemed to turn to stone in his stomach. Just _what_ was he looking at, anyway? What were they teaching at this school?

Ziyal’s smile melted at Dukat’s words. She picked up a drawing and studied it, her brows knit together as though she were trying to understand just what it was that was objectionable about it. “I don’t understand, Father,” she said. “They’re not finished yet, but . . . you’ve never been worried about my assignments before. They’re not due for another three weeks. These are only drafts.”

Dukat pursed his lips, thought of a different way to approach the issue. “Tell me more about the assignment.”

Ziyal straightened her posture, placing the picture back on the coffee table with the rest of the collection. “Well,” she began, in a tone that suggested she’d had to explain this on more than one occasion, “we’re supposed to take something ordinary, some slice of life we see every day, and represent it in a style that’s both outside of what we normally do and compliments the situation.” A small hint of a smile crept back into Ziyal’s face as she studied the drawings. “Finding the material was the easy part. It’s been working with the complimentary style that’s been the most challenging. I know they’re different, but . . . do you think they’re good?”

They _were_ good. They were very, very good. Dukat was having trouble finding a single flaw in the execution of pencil to paper, of brush stroke or of color or of proportion. His daughter was a marvel of artistic excellence; he would argue into the ground anyone who even suggested otherwise. But, as he examined picture after picture, he began to think that perhaps she needed to be removed from the university’s environment after all, if _this_ was what she thought was commonplace.

. . . four faces: himself, Ziyal, Damar, and that insufferable tailor _Garak_ of all people . . .

. . . himself, standing smugly as Damar cast him a murderous look from behind his Dominion’s clipboard . . .

. . . Garak again, and Weyoun, who was apparently the “employee of ~~the month~~  forever” . . .

. . . Garak _again_ , and that med student plaything of his, sipping coffee and _wrapped in a scarf?_ . . .

. . . himself, staring over the counter of Deep Dish Nine at cashier Kira Nerys . . .

. . . himself, leering over the counter of Deep Dish Nine at Kira Nerys, while Ziyal looked on and that Dax girl gave him the evil eye . . .

. . . Nerys again, holding out a “special delivery for Mr. Dukat” which had FUK U spelled out in pepperoni . . .

. . . Garak again, modeling some ostentatious coat . . .

. . . himself, sitting at Deep Dish Nine and looking furious as that Klingon stared him down from behind the counter . . .

. . . himself, leaning over the register of Deep Dish Nine to slip Nerys a business card with his personal phone number scrawled across the back . . .

. . . himself, eating a slice of pizza while seductively staring at Nerys . . .

. . . Ziyal, handing out cards apologizing for some lecherous behavior on his behalf . . .

And the style . . . what had she said about the style? Something that compliments the situation? Dukat scanned the drawings again, trying to see past the subject matter. Well-executed as it was, the style Ziyal had chosen for her artwork—especially the drawings of him—was . . . _comical_.

Dukat opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it. Opened it again, closed it and pursed his lips. He tilted his head slightly, considering, and looked up when he felt Ziyal’s expectant gaze upon him.

“Well, Father?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you _think_?”

Dukat sidestepped the question again. “You mentioned these are going to be displayed in the campus gallery at the end of term?”

Ziyal beamed withexcitement. “Yes, most of them. All of the junior art students get gallery space this semester.”

“Ah.”

Dukat returned his gaze to the drawings. The tilt of his head, the exaggerated stretch of his smile, the undeniably disturbing gleam in his eye . . . Was this really how he appeared to others?As some sort of comic book villain? No _wonder_ Nerys snarled at him every time he tried to charm her out of a slice of pizza and possibly more. He would have to definitely up his game. Perhaps he could take a page out of that insufferable tailor’s book after all; the man was indisputably suave. And perhaps he should thank his daughter for bringing the situation to his attention, and not mention just how utterly disagreeable he found her theme. And why couldn’t she just paint more _flowers_ , for goodness’ sake?

“. . . Yes, Ziyal. They’re very, very good.”


	2. Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by yet another picture on the Deep Dish Nine tumblr. In this story, Damar has a problem with the store. And dealing with Weyoun is never easy.

“Dominion’s corporate office, Alpha City district, Weyoun speaking.”  
“Weyoun. It’s Damar.”  
“Damaaaar! What a pleasant surprise! How are you? How is the home brewing going?”  
“. . . It’s fine.”  
“That’s wonderful! I’m glad to hear it. Are you experimenting with any new flavors this time?”  
“. . . No.”  
“I see. So, Damar, how may I assist you today?”  
“We may have a problem.”  
“Oh? What kind of problem? I trust it isn’t too serious?”  
“I don’t know. The First on shift called me in to look at it. If it is what he says it is, it’s a problem. I’m on my way over to the store now. I’ll call you back when I get there to let you know what I find.”  
“I await your call with the utmost anticipation.”  
“. . . Okay.”

“Dominion’s corporate office, Alpha City district, Weyoun speaking.”  
“Weyoun. It’s Damar.”  
“Damaaaar! How wonderful to hear your voice again! Did you have a pleasant drive?”  
“. . . Yes.”  
“Gooood! So, tell me, what did you find?”  
“It’s the pizza boxes. We have a problem with the pizza boxes.”  
“The pizza boxes? Oh, Damar! You had me worried there! I had thought it was going to be something much more problematic.”  
“It is a problem. They’re . . . not the right ones.”  
“What do you mean, they’re not the right ones?”  
“They’re not the right ones.”  
“Isn’t this something the manager of your store should be handling?”  
“Dukat? Pfft. I tried telling him. He laughed.”  
“Oh I see. Well, exactly how are your pizza boxes not the right ones?”  
“Perhaps you’d better come down here and see for yourself.”  
“It’s that serious, is it? Oh, very well then. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Hello, this is Damar.”  
“Damaaaar! How kind of you to answer so promptly.”  
“Weyoun. Where are you? I thought you were coming to the store.”  
“Oh. That. Yes. Well, you see . . . I seem to have misplaced my wallet. I had it getting off the last train, but there were so many people, and I was jostled about quite a bit, and the train doesn’t go all the way to Cardassia Heights, and you see now I have no money for the bus—”  
“You were mugged?”  
“Don’t be ridiculous—”  
“Do you need me to come and get you?”  
“Oh, would you? I would be ever so grateful!”  
“. . . Fine. Stay where you are. I’ll be there soon.”

“Get in.”  
“Damaaaa—”  
“Just get in.”  
“My, my. Touchy today, aren’t we?”  
“. . .”  
“Well then.”  
“. . .”  
“. . .”  
“. . .”  
“Why don’t we turn on a little music—”  
“—Don’t touch my radio—”  
“—to keep the silence at bay, shall we?”  
“—Red, the blood of angry men!  
Black, the dark of ages past!  
Red, a world about to dawn!  
Black, the night that ends at—”  
“I said, don’t touch my radio.”  
“. . . Oh. Oh dear . . . I do apologize . . . Was that a . . . musical?”  
“. . .”  
“I see.”  
“. . .”  
“ Was that Les Misérables? You know, I’ve never listened to it in its entirety, but I hear it’s very good.”  
“. . .”  
“Yes, well . . .”  
“. . .”  
“. . .”  
“. . .”  
“This is a fine car you have, Damar. It’s very sleek. You know, I always thought of you as an SUV sort of fellow. This seems almost too . . . refined, for you. Oh, please don’t take that the wrong way.”  
“Mmh. I guess you were wrong then.”  
“Yes, I suppose I was . . .”  
“. . .”  
“. . .”  
“. . .”  
“How many Jem’Hadar are on shift today?”  
“Four.”  
“Four! Damar, don’t you think that’s a little excessive? If you keep scheduling like that, I won’t have enough ketracel-white to pay them all.”  
“The warehouse shipment comes in today. It was necessary.”  
“Damar, how many times have I told you? You only need the bare minimum of pizza supplies; there’s no need to overstock for something there is hardly a demand for.”  
“Weyoun, the only reason your white-smuggling racket is so successful here is because my store sells enough pizza to keep the cops from proving anything.”  
“Your store?”  
“You and I both know that Dukat is only the manager because the manager gets business cards. I’m the one who runs it. I’m the one who makes sure your deliveries go out, on time, to the right people. And when Dukat comes in and actually does something . . . we have a problem with the pizza boxes.”  
“You and Dukat used to be so close. It’s heartbreaking for me to see you so upset, Damar.”  
“Is it.”  
“Truly, it is.”  
“. . .”  
“. . . This trip is much longer than I remember.”

“Damar, sir, you have returned. Sir we have a problem.”  
“Yes, I know, Second. Where are First, Third and Fourth?”  
“Third went home sick. First and Fourth are in the back.”  
“With the pizza boxes?”  
“Yes sir, but—”  
“Good. Weyoun, if you’ll follow me.”

“Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. This is a problem.”  
“I assure you, Weyoun, this was not the original problem. You can clearly see the original problem underneath . . .”  
“Yes Damar, I see what you mean. But why write over it?”  
“Damar, sir, I would like to point out—”  
“Not now, Second. First! Can you explain this to me? WHAT happened here?”  
“Yes, gentlemen, please be kind enough to tell Damar and I what went on.”  
“I thought we would take initiative to fix the problem—”  
“I told them not to, but he is the First on shift—”  
“And if I had not done something, the boxes would still be piled in the lobby—”  
“Better that than to have made this error—”  
“Enough! Gentlemen, please . . . I know you new hires from Alpha City are eager to prove yourselves, but let’s not let this new position go to our heads, now, shall we? Damar, who made this one First?”  
“Dukat.”  
“Ah. Fire this one. Promote the Second. Now, about this problem . . .”  
“Which problem? The original problem? I didn’t order these boxes, Weyoun. I told you before, Dukat placed the orders this week.”  
“Yes, yes, I . . . well . . . hee . . .”  
“I know you have poor eyesight, but you can clearly see that this box says ‘Dominion’s Drugs’ on it, and not ‘Dominion’s Pizza’, can’t you?”  
“Yes Damar, I can see that . . . teehee . . .  
“And about the new problem.”  
“Yes, your employees have gone and . . . hehehe . . .”  
“Gone and crossed out ‘Drugs’ and written ‘PIZZA’ on the box instead!”  
“With red spray paint no less!”  
“Weyoun are you . . . are you laughing at this?”  
“. . . heeeheeeheee . . . Well, you must admit . . . ‘Dominion’s ~~Drugs~~ PIZZA’ . . . ohhhohohoh . . . it is . . . heh heh heh . . . rather ridiculous . . . BAAAHAHAHAHAHA!”  
“. . .”

 

“Sir? Sir what happened to Weyoun?”  
“I gave him some bus fare and sent him back to his office. What do you need, Fourth?”  
“Damar sir, I would ask Second—er, First, now, sir, but he is out front helping a customer.”  
“Just ask your question, Fourth. If I have to spend one more minute here on my day off . . .”  
“Damar sir, what shall I do with these new boxes?”  
“I suppose we’ll have to throw them away.”  
“Yes, sir. Sir, I know it is not my place to question an order, but . . .”  
“What, Fourth?”  
“Damar sir, these are all of the boxes we have. The last six of the previous boxes are out front, waiting to be used. We have no replacement boxes.”  
“. . .”  
“Sir? What shall I do with these boxes, sir?”  
“Use them. Use them. We’ll just use them. How many boxes do we have?”  
“. . . Four hundred, sir.”


	3. Bonus! The Dominion's Holiday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since it’s Christmas/Yule/the holiday season, I decided to write this little interlude. References are made to it being winter, as it seems to be the general consensus that the world of Deep Dish 9 and Alpha City are somewhere in “North America”. (I apologize to any and all Southern Hemisphere readers who may be upset by this . . .) I hope you find it as delightful to read as I did to write. Merry Christmas, happy Solstice, and a happy new year!

“I have a present for you,” Ziyal said.

It was late in the holiday party. The pot luck had been a surprising success. In addition to the pizzas that New First, Third and Fourth had made, there had been grilled vegetable kabobs brought by Damar, a crock of smoked mini sausages in barbecue sauce, also brought by Damar, a platter of almond tea cakes that Ziyal and her father had baked, and a curious tray of burnt lumps which might have been cookies at one point, but were now far beyond salvaging. No one had wanted to disrupt the proud beam on Weyoun’s face when he had brought them in, though. After dinner, they had all gathered around the break room table, drinking perhaps too much eggnog and sharing stories of the store. Even the Founder had shown up; she stood in the far corner of the break room, quietly observing the festivities. After a time, Ziyal had gotten up and bounded over to the Christmas tree, under which she had stashed her messenger bag. She returned to stand in front of the group, hands behind her back, hiding something.

“If you recall, a while back I put a box back here in the break room and asked all the staff to submit things about Christmas: poems, stories, thoughts, that kind of stuff. Well, for my winter term project I took all those, and I illustrated a bunch of them, and I made a book!” She drew her hands out from behind her back and proudly presented a slim, hardbound book with the Dominion’s Pizza logo on the front. The logo was covered in Christmas lights, and emblazoned across the top in gold letters were the words _A Very Dominion’s Christmas_. “Some of you submitted things anonymously,” she continued, “and some of you left your names, but they’re all so wonderful and they were all so much fun to draw. It’s for you—for all of you. It’s a present for the store. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to read some of them to you.” She sat back down at the table, opened the book, and began to read . . .

* * *

 The 12 Days of Christmas  
by Weyoun

_On the first day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the second day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the third day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the fourth day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the fifth day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: five Alpha City locations! Four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the sixth day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: six different kinds of pizza, five Alpha City locations! Four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the seventh day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: seven identical twin brothers, six different kinds of pizza, five Alpha City locations! Four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the eighth day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: eight Dominion’s t-shirts (one for everyone!), seven identical twin brothers, six different kinds of pizza, five Alpha City locations! Four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the ninth day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: nine ketracel-white suppliers, eight Dominion’s t-shirts (one for everyone!), seven identical twin brothers, six different kinds of pizza, five Alpha City locations! Four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the tenth day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: ten hardworking Jem’Hadar, nine ketracel-white suppliers, eight Dominion’s t-shirts (one for everyone!), seven identical twin brothers, six different kinds of pizza, five Alpha City locations! Four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the eleventh day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: eleven jugs of tomato sauce, ten hardworking Jem’Hadar, nine ketracel-white suppliers, eight Dominion’s t-shirts (one for everyone!), seven identical twin brothers, six different kinds of pizza, five Alpha City locations! Four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, the Founder gave to me: twelve pounds of mozzarella, eleven jugs of tomato sauce, ten hardworking Jem’Hadar, nine ketracel-white suppliers, eight Dominion’s t-shirts (one for everyone!), seven identical twin brothers, six different kinds of pizza, five Alpha City locations! Four hundred mislabeled pizza boxes, three health inspections, two Cardassian minions, and the greatest job in the galaxy._

* * *

Christmas Victory  
by Fourth

_Victory is life!  
_ _Getting the shopping done before Christmas Eve,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Stringing up the lights before the snow falls,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Finding the perfect wrapping paper,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Putting the star on top of the tree,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Not burning Christmas dinner,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Finding chairs for all of the relatives,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Remembering all the words to_ The 12 Days of Christmas _,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Not drinking too much eggnog,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Telling stories of Christmases past,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Going to bed before Santa comes,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Waking up to find the milk and cookies gone,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Seeing the faces of the children as they open their presents on Christmas morning,  
_ _That is victory.  
_ _Victory is life!_

* * *

“There is nowhere I would rather be on Christmas than here, with my good friends Damar and Weyoun, and my beautiful, wonderful daughter, who is the light of my life.”  
~ Skrain Dukat

* * *

Deck the Store  
by Weyoun

_Deck the store with Christmas trappings! Fa la la la la, la la la la!_

_In the boxes, white we’re wrapping! Fa la la la la, la la la la!_

_Even Odo can’t expose us! Fa la la, la la la, la la la!_

_Running drugs is such good business! Fa la la la la, la la la la!_

* * *

Homemade Kanar Nog

(“Damar, you didn’t leave your name, but we all know this is you.”)

_This Terran holiday drink is easy to make, and is made even better by the addition of kanar.  
_ _Recipe makes 12 servings._

**Ingredients  
** ~ 4 cups milk  
~ 5 whole cloves  
~ 2 & 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract  
~ 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon  
~ 12 Terran chicken egg yolks (do NOT substitute Regova or Taspar eggs in an attempt to make the drink more “Cardassian”; they do NOT work)  
~ 1 & 1/2 cups sugar  
~ 2 & 1/2 cups traditional brown kanar (I use my own, but store-bought is acceptable; find a newer vintage, as the older vintages tend to give a bitter aftertaste to the nog)  
~ 4 cups light cream  
~ 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

**Directions**   
1\. Combine milk, cloves, 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract, and cinnamon in a saucepan, and heat over lowest setting for 5 minutes. Slowly bring milk mixture to a boil.

2\. In a large bowl, combine egg yolks and sugar. Whisk together until fluffy. Whisk hot milk mixture slowly into the eggs. Pour mixture into saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly for 3 minutes, or until thick. Do not allow mixture to boil. Strain to remove cloves, and let cool for about an hour.

3\. Stir in kanar, cream, remaining 2 teaspoons vanilla extract, and nutmeg. Refrigerate overnight before serving.

* * *

“Christmas is a Terran holiday. Its origin is religious and ancient. So why should we celebrate it? Well, we do live in Alpha City, which is mainly populated by Terrans. And it seems that Christmas seeps into everything. Christmas has become not just about religion; it’s become about love. And goodness. And joy. And it’s not only Terrans who embrace this; the Federation doesn’t have a monopoly on these things. This time of year, in the dark and the cold, we remind one another that we are the light and the heat, and we make each other bright.”  
~ anonymous

* * *

Dominion’s Pizza  
by Weyoun

_You had better watch out,  
_ _You had better not cry,  
_ _You had better not pout,  
_ _I’m telling you why:  
_ _Dominion’s Pizza is coming to a location near you!_

_We’re making some offers,  
_ _We’re checking the price,  
_ _We’re signing the lease,  
_ _Oh, this strip mall is nice:  
_ _Dominion’s Pizza is coming to a location near you!_

_We know what you desire,  
_ _We make our pizzas right,  
_ _And if you do inquire,  
_ _We might throw in some white!_

_So . . .  
_ _You had better watch out,  
_ _You had better not cry,  
_ _You had better not pout,  
_ _I’m telling you why:  
_ _Dominion’s Pizza is coming to a location near you!_

* * *

“All I want for Christmas is Kira Nerys.”  
~ anonymous

(“Father I just couldn’t resist drawing you staring at Kira again . . .”

“Now Ziyal, how do you know I wrote that?”

“Really Father, it’s obvious. And you should have typed it if you’re going to use that excuse; I recognized your handwriting.”)

* * *

“I haven’t had this much fun celebrating a holiday since . . . well, I’ve never celebrated a holiday. Not until Dominion’s Pizza came to Alpha City. I like holidays! There should be more.”  
~ Weyoun

* * *

The Softly Falling Snow  
anonymous

_The night is quiet  
_ _save the hooting owl perched  
_ _high in the tree.  
_ _Winter nights are always quiet.  
_ _The hush  
_ _is one of calm or  
_ _is it one of anticipation?  
_ _The stars would burn in the crystal sky  
_ _if I could see them.  
_ _The stars shine brighter on winter nights.  
_ _But a blanket  
_ _covers the sky  
_ _covers the ground  
_ _is covering me.  
_ _And there is music in the blanket.  
_ _Music in the hush.  
_ _I can faintly  
_ _hear the beauty  
_ _of the softly falling snow._

* * *

Ziyal closed the book delicately and looked up. She smiled at the people around the break room table, this ragtag bunch of ill-fitting personalities who had become her family. Slowly, she slid the book into the middle of the table. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Merry Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Addendum: The actual eggnog recipe that Damar’s is based on comes from allrecipes.com; it’s called “Amazingly Good Eggnog”. I’ve not made it, but I’m sure it’s delicious. If you would like to make your own, you don’t have to go to the website; you can just follow Damar’s recipe—the only difference is (clearly) the kanar. The original recipe calls for rum, if you’re into that sort of thing. Happy holidays!)


	4. Grades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another adventure! In which Dukat schemes and Damar does all the legwork. Also, I apologize in advance for what I’m sure are the gross inaccuracies of the technical side of this fic, but it’s all in good fun, so take it with a grain of salt. I’m certain I know more than Dukat, at any rate.

“Look at this. This is _appalling_.”

Dukat threw the report down on the table with disgust. Two other sets of eyes followed its trajectory—one wide with curiosity, the other narrowed in annoyance. Both sets alit on the large black **F** printed in the top corner of the first page. Dukat rounded on the owner of the annoyed eyes. “I blame you.”

Damar all but lunged out of his chair at the accusation. His eyes flashed from annoyance to anger. “You think this is _my_ fault?” he growled. “I wasn’t even _here—_ ”

“Which is why I blame you,” Dukat finished. “We would have passed this inspection if you hadn’t taken three weeks’ leave for that ridiculous kanar festival back in Cardassia—”

“Which _you_ cleared me for months ago,” Damar shot back. “You practically begged me to clear out of here when you found out Kira Nerys was filling in as the delivery driver over at Deep Dish Nine; what did you do while I was gone, lure her here with a pizza order and then drag her around the store, showing her your dazzling aptitude for management and suggesting that the two of you go off and start your own pizza chain together?”

Dukat’s indignant look at the sarcasm was all the proof Damar needed.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“What _I_ do,” Dukat answered, “is none of your business.”

The room lapsed into a tense silence. Weyoun picked up the report and began to flip through it, still wide-eyed with curiosity. “This is im _press_ ive,” he finally said. “There are violations in _every_ category.” He looked up from the report. “How did the two of you manage this?”

“It was _his fault_!” Dukat and Damar answered in unison, each pointing a finger at the other.

Weyoun held up his hand, an amused quirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Gentlemen, pleeaase. I’m inclined to hold you _both_ accountable.”He watched as Damar’s angry scowl took on a hint of smugness and all self-satisfaction drained from Dukat’s face. Just then, though, a shadow flickered across Weyoun’s expression. “But if the Founder discovers that this establishment has been shut down because we’ve failed the health inspection, she will place the blame on me. And I don’t intend to disappoint the Founder.” He flipped through the report again, to the back page. “The final notes here state that ‘a follow-up inspection will be performed to determine whether the violations have been addressed sufficiently to avoid closure’. Do we have a time frame for when this inspection will take place?”

“One week,” Dukat answered.

Damar’s eyebrows shot up. “To fix a month’s worth of your screw-ups?”

Weyoun thought for a moment. “One week . . . Well, I suggest you get started then.” He put the report back on the table and stood up to leave. “If you must speak to me, I’ll be at my office. Running the other Alpha City stores. The ones _not_ failing.” He gave them a pointed look as he walked out the door. “And not run by Cardassians. Clean this mess up, please.”

An uncomfortable silence followed Weyoun’s departure. Dukat stared at the door. Damar stared at the report. Neither of them moved. The minutes ticked away: minute after agonizing minute of thick, grating silence. Finally, Damar cleared his throat. “What do we do now?”

Dukat huffed. “Well, I for one have no desire to pick up the pieces of a situation that would not have happened if you had not been gone.”

Damar gave an incredulous hoot and shook his head. “You still won’t admit that you made a mistake.”

“Cadassians don’t make mistakes.” Dukat answered.

“. . . You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

Dukat turned to him then, and Damar met his gaze. “Just like with the pizza boxes. There’s no way this could have happened on its own, unless you just didn’t show up at all last month. Did the ovens get cleaned once? Did the floor? You have to leave detailed instructions for the Jem’Hadar, or they won’t know what to do each day. I think you _like_ making my job impossible.”

“Damar, I would never _dream_ of deliberately putting you in an inconvenient situation,” Dukat replied. A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, half smirk, half fondness. “But I must say, it _is_ beautiful the way you rise to a challenge. It is a great relief, knowing I can rely on you.”

There was silence again, while the two of them looked at each other. Finally, Damar puffed out a sigh and pursed his lips, turning back to the report. “We have one week to fix this, or Weyoun will have our heads.”

“Would that be before or after the Founder has his?” Dukat remarked amusedly. When Damar shot him an annoyed glance, he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Damar, I have no intention of allowing this establishment to close down. Contrary to what you may believe, I do have _some_ stake in its well-being.”

“Only because your name is on the business cards,” Damar grumbled, but the annoyed look had left his eyes. “Personally, I hope the Founder does have Weyoun’s head. Working with that man is like working with Jell-O.”

“Jell-O?”

“It’s a Terran food. It’s sweet—too sweet—and it’s slippery, and if you don’t handle it carefully at first you could be burned, and it’s annoying as hell to deal with once it’s set.”

Dukat chuckled. “Damar you surprise me. I did not know you were a man of such worldly cuisine. Or of such metaphor.”

“That wasn’t a metaphor; it was a simile.”

“Cardassians don’t make mistakes, Damar.”

“Oh, well ex _cuse me_ —”

“Cardassians don’t make mistakes . . . but _Terrans_ do.” Dukat leaned forward across the table, an unmistakable gleam in his eye. “All we have to do is convince the health department that there is no need for a follow-up inspection. Then, we will have ‘cleaned this mess up,’ as our Jell-O friend put it, and no one will be the wiser. We won’t even have to lift a finger. I don’t see what needs fixing in the first place; we had a very successful month.”

“You already have a plan.”

“Oh, certainly. And one that will send our dear friends over at Deep Dish Nine into a mess of their own. Weyoun was right about one thing: this restaurant is run by Cardassians, not those blockhead Jem’Hadar. We are going to fix this problem the Cardassian way.”

“With subterfuge?”

“With style, Damar! We escape our own destruction, deal our enemy a blow in the process, and it’s all over before anyone suspects a thing.”

Dukat leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile spread across his face. Damar shook his head, but a hint of a smirk twinkled in his eyes. “You’re talking like a soldier again,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

Dukat leaned forward once more, his smile turning conspiratorial. He tapped the papers in front of him, his finger hitting the large black **F**.

“We are going to fake the report.”

* * *

 Damar stood in the shadows, as close to the building as possible. Though it was freezing outside, he was grateful for the weather, for it meant he had an excuse to shield his face. Being in this part of town was risky enough for any Cardassian, what with the Bajorans having taken back their borough, but he knew that if anyone saw him in particular it would spell disaster for the plan. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. No one else had any reason to be back here behind the building, but with that pathetic excuse for an apartment complex where seemingly every employee of Deep Dish Nine lived just down the road, he wanted to be sure. He mustn’t be spotted. At least, not by the wrong people.

A grating sound pierced the night air, and he pressed closer to the building as the loading dock door opened. Two women stepped out into the cold, one with a cigarette in hand. From their slight frames and heavy makeup, Damar guessed they were some of Quark’s dabo girls. How Quark managed to bring in enough money to keep his bar open at all hours was a mystery, but at the moment it was something else Damar was grateful for. He watched as the woman lit her cigarette. How to approach, without frightening the two and ruining everything? Slowly, he walked out into the parking lot, emerging from the shadows, his feet crunching on the compacted snow. He felt their gaze lock onto him immediately. He made his way toward them, trying to look non-threatening. When he reached the steps leading up to the loading dock platform, he stopped. The woman with the cigarette watched him, her body language casual, but Damar saw the guard in her eyes. He cringed inwardly. He had no intention of harming this woman, but of course she didn’t know that. _Just get it over with,_ Damar thought. _It’s bad enough two other people have to see you._ “I need to see Quark,” Damar called from below.

“Who’s asking?” the woman called back. She threw the cigarette down and ground it into the concrete, her eyes not leaving him.

“. . . A friend of a friend,” Damar replied after a pause. He hoped that would peak Quark’s interest enough to come out.

“A friend of a friend . . .” the woman repeated. Her eyes narrowed. “Hmm.” She motioned for the other woman to go back inside, following behind her when she opened the door. “I’ll . . . let him know you’re here.” They quickly disappeared behind the loading dock door, leaving Damar at the base of the steps. A few minutes later the door opened again, accompanied by the loud sounds of complaining. Damar caught the phrases “this had better be good” and “ . . . dock your pay” as Quark stepped onto the loading dock platform.

Quark shivered and rubbed his hands together, an irritable look on his face. “Well, what do you want?” he demanded. “Do you know how cold it is out here?”

Damar took that as his cue to approach. “I require your services,” he said, ascending the steps.

“You require my services.” Quark arched his eyebrows. “Now what services would those be? Who are you?”

Damar walked closer. He glanced around again, then pulled his scarf down and pushed up the hood of his jacket to reveal his face. “It’s me.”

Quark’s eyes lit up. “Damar! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Shh!” Damar shot back. “Keep your voice down.” He shrugged his hood back down over his eyes again. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Quark shivered once more. “Come inside. We’ll go to the office. No, on second thought, come with me.” He led Damar through the loading dock door and down the back hallway of the bar into what appeared to be a stock room. Leaving the lights off, Quark shut the door behind them. Their faces glowed eerily in the illumination of the red ‘EXIT’ sign on the wall. Damar smirked as he noted how clichédly perfect the situation was: this clandestine meeting in the dead of night, in the dark of some nondescript back room. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

Quark pulled up two stacks of milk crates and seated himself on one, motioning for Damar to take the other. “So, Damar,” he began, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I need a favor.”

“Damar, I don’t deal in favors.”

“Just hear me out; we think it’ll be worth your while.”

Quark inclined his head. “ ‘We’? Intriguing. Go on.”

“Weneed you to get your hands on Deep Dish Nine’s health inspection report.”

“The health inspection report? What for?”

“We need you to make a switch.”

There was a pause as Quark considered what Damar had said. Realization dawned on him. “You want me to switch Deep Dish Nine’s report for Dominion’s Pizza’s report.” An amused look crossed Quark’s face. “Really, I didn’t realize things were so bad over there.”

“That’s none of your business. Will you do it or not?”

“And what do I get out of all of this? Deep Dish Nine brings me customers—more than that ridiculous taco place Dukat used to run. Why would I do something to jeopardize my business relationship with them?”

Damar leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Because, when Deep Dish Nine is shut down, you can buy up their lease and expand your bar. You’ll finally have enough room for that massage parlor I hear you’ve been wanting.”

Quark scratched his ear, thoughtful. “Rule of Acquisition number ninety-five: Expand or Die,” he muttered to himself. There was another pause. Damar sat like a statue on his milk crates, not daring to break the silence. Too much was riding on this deal for Quark to refuse. Finally, Quark let out a chuckle and stood up. Damar followed suit.

“You know, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Quark said, extending his hand. “I’ll do it.” Damar grasped Quark’s hand and they shook. “But promise me one thing,” Quark continued, staring seriously into Damar’s eyes. “Don’t let Dukat beat me to it and reopen his taco joint. That place was terrible.”

Damar nodded. “You have my word.”

“Great!” Quark pushed the milk crates back to their place and opened the door of the stock room. “I’ll have a formal contract drawn up for you to sign by the morning.”

“This can’t be traced back to us,” Damar warned.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’s just between us. But I want some assurances that you’ll keep your end of the deal.”

“Very well.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow then. We’ll go over the details in the morning. I trust you know the way out?”

Damar nodded. Quark gave him a small bow, cupping his hands together in the traditional Ferengi gesture, then walked down the back hall in the direction of the bar. Damar headed for the loading dock. He’d done his part; the plan was in motion. He’d leave Dukat to work out the details.

On second thought, perhaps not. He was the one who had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

* * *

 “Okay it’s like this.”

The next day found Damar and Dukat back at their places around the break room table of Dominion’s Pizza. Quark had joined them, bringing along the promised contract. Dukat had refused to sign it, balking at Damar’s promise to let Quark buy out Deep Dish Nine. He and Damar had made no such agreement beforehand, Dukat had stated. And since it was his plan in the first place, it should be his terms under which it operated. Quark had asked him if he had a better offer, and when Dukat couldn’t come up with one Quark had launched into a justification for why he should end up with Deep Dish Nine.

“In order to switch your reports, I need the file number. Which means I have to physically get my hands on the report from Deep Dish Nine, which means I have to go over there and somehow get into their office, and then _find_ the report, all just so I can see the file number. Then, I have to hack into the health department database and use the file number to look up their report, providing the inspector has already submitted it and it’s not just sitting at home on his laptop.”

“Her,” Damar interjected.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The inspector was a woman.”

“Oh, even better. A female. Do you know how sneaky female health inspectors are? Anyway, after I’ve found their report, I have to download a copy, after which I have to do the same thing with _your_ report, so that I can re-upload both reports under the opposite file number. I’ll have to alter the business name on each file as well.”

Dukat let out an impatient sigh. “I know you’ve done this before, Quark.”

“Oh I’ve altered reports before, yes. I can do it; you’ll get your report switched. What I’m saying is that it _isn’t going to be easy_ , so my payoff for doing this should be rather substantial.”

Finished, Quark pushed the contract back across the table toward Dukat and looked at him keenly. A moment of silence followed as Dukat considered his options. At long last, he picked up the pen. “Oh, very well,” he said, scrawling his name below Damar’s. “But do not forget whose idea led to this in the first place. I expect a certain gratitude when I visit your establishment.”

Quark snatched away the contract and tucked it safely into his jacket pocket. “Anything for you,” he replied, his smile the picture of customer service. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

“As long as it’s done before the end of the week!” Damar called after him, but he was already out the door.

“You know, Damar,” Dukat remarked, after a moment had passed, “I wish you had consulted with me beforehand. I had rather hoped that after Deep Dish Nine went under I might reopen my old taco restaurant.”

Damar suppressed a snort. “What makes you think the Bajorans wouldn’t run you out of business?”

“Oh Damar!” Dukat replied. “Everyone loves tacos! I bet that the people of Little Bajor actually miss my little shop.”

Damar grunted his acknowledgment. They lapsed into silence again. At long last, Damar took in a breath and asked, his voice heavy with doubt, “How do you know this is going to work? Even if Quark switches the files, how do we know someone isn’t going to show up here next week, just to check?”

“Damar, Damar,” Dukat chuckled, “how little you know of the restaurant business. The health inspectors don’t talk to each other. It’s all done in that database of theirs. When the system flags a report, they’ll assign some random inspector to come out and look at it. It won’t be that same woman. The system _will_ flag the report, but it won’t be our report anymore, and someone _will_ come . . .” Dukat laughed again, low in his throat, a dangerously gleeful glint in his eye. “. . . But they’ll go to Deep Dish Nine.”

* * *

 Monday afternoon, Damar arrived at work to find a blinking light on the office phone. He stared at it for a long moment. Neither he nor Dukat had heard from Quark since their meeting on Saturday morning. Either things had gone terribly well, and Quark had forgotten to contact them—unlikely—or things had gone very very wrong and Quark was avoiding them. It was also entirely possible that Quark had contacted Dukat and Dukat had neglected to tell him. But for whatever reason, Damar could not shake the feeling that something bad was on the other end of that blinking light. Taking a deep drink of his coffee, he settled himself at the desk and dialed the store’s voicemail.

“ _Welcome. You have—two—unheard messages. First unheard message. Sent—today—at—6:27—a.m._ ‘It’s Quark. One word: Qapla’. ’ _End of message. To erase this message, press seven. To save it in the archives, press nine. To reply to this message—”_

Damar pressed seven as quickly as he could. He didn’t know much Klingon, but that was a word he would recognize anywhere: success. Quark had done it. The health inspection reports were switched. It was over. Damar breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the voicemail.

“ _Next unheard message. Sent—today—at—11:03—a.m._ ‘Hello, this message is for Skrain Dukat. Mr. Dukat, this is Darlene Simmons with the health department. I recently performed an inspection on your establishment, Dominion’s Pizza. It has come to my attention that the report that was submitted for your place of business was accidentally filed under another pizza location near your area. It appears that the report for that location was also mis-submitted, but I would like to double-check that I have your correct report on file. If you could please send me a copy of your report, so that I may check it against my records, that would be appreciated. My e-mail is d simmons at health services dot alpha city dot gov. Again, that’s dee simmons—ess aye em em oh en ess—at health services dot alpha city dot gov. Thank you for your time.’ _End of message. To erase this message, press seven. To save it in the archives, press nine. To reply to this message . . .”_

Damar sat there, frozen, the phone hanging limply in his hand. He could dimly hear the cool female tones of the voicemail system prompting him with numbers, but his mind did not register the words. It just . . . wasn’t possible. They’d done it. Quark had switched the files. It was over. It had to be. And yet, here was the health inspector’s message, calling their bluff. Oh, this was not how he had wanted his Monday to go. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, hanging up the phone. There was nothing left to be done but call Dukat and deliver the bad news. He knew this would happen. A part of him had secretly hoped that Dukat’s crazy scheme would work, if only to bask in the giddiness of having pulled off an impossible task. But he had known. Dukat had been in charge for three weeks and they had _failed the health inspection_ , for goodness’ sake. There had been a time when he would have followed any command Dukat had given him, without question. They had been soldiers then. Now, Damar knew better. He knew better than to trust Dukat’s ridiculous ideas. But he still did. Against his better judgment. Call it loyalty, for what it was worth. And it had landed them in the largest mess Damar had yet found himself. Pursing his lips in frustration, he dialed Dukat’s number.

“Hello Damar.”

“Dukat. We have a problem.”

“Oh? And what problem would that be? I trust things at the store are doing well?”

“Don’t even try and pretend you don’t know what problem. Your brilliant plan? It _didn’t work._ ”

“Damar, what are you talking about?”

“The health inspector called. She left a message. Apparently the ‘files were accidentally switched’ and she needs us to send a _copy_ of our _report_ so she can check it.”

“. . . What?”

“It’s done. It’s over. Your plan _failed,_ Dukat.”

Silence on the end of the line. Then, Dukat’s voice, distracted, plotting. “No. No, there is still a way out of this. I will make some calls. You just stay at the store, and leave it all to me. I’ll take care of it.”

Damar grumbled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the spirit Damar! Stay in the fight.”

“But—”

_Click!_ The distinct sound of the line disconnecting. Damar let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. There was no way this would end well.

The rest of the afternoon passed—mercifully—without incident. The Jem’Hadar put away the frozen goods order with efficiency and Damar instructed them to deep clean the lobby. A Cardassian father brought his young son in to try “the Terran savory pie” for the first time, and a few of the Second on shift’s friends stopped by later on. As evening fell, the delivery orders began ringing in. Damar fielded one call requesting the “white pizza”, which he promptly disappeared behind the door marked ‘Electrical Room’ to prepare. As he was packing up the last of the vials of ketracel-white, there was a knock at the door. The First on shift poked his head in. “Sir, there’s someone here to see y—”

He was cut off as the door was pushed wide open.

“ _Well!_ They didn’t tell me _this_ was going on.”

Damar turned abruptly. Standing in the doorway was a shorter man, Ferengi by the look of him. He wore a badge around his neck and carried a clipboard in one hand. His eyes twinkled deviously. Stepping into the room, he grinned and looked Damar straight in the eye. “The name’s Brunt, HSA.”

Damar felt the color draining from his face. “ _Health Services Association . ._.” he muttered under his breath. “. . . You’re not supposed to be here until Thursday,” he finally managed to blurt out.

The Ferengi snorted. “Relax,” he chortled, “I’m here to help you. Although—” he leaned obtrusively to look behind Damar, “—if you want me to overlook this little detail we may have to renegotiate my pay.”

“I . . . uh . . . Brunt.”

“That’s _Inspector_ Brunt to you, pizza boy. What do you say we get started?”

“Started with what?”

“Don’t you two talk to each other? I’ve seen flea markets more organized than this. I’m here to fake your file.”

“Oh. I . . . Just a moment.” Damar turned back and finished boxing the ketracel-white. He sidled past Brunt into the hall, thrusting the box into the First’s hands. “Take this. You know what to do.” The First nodded and walked off. Looking back at Brunt, Damar motioned for him to follow. “Let’s go to the office.”

When they reached the office, Damar closed the door swiftly and looked hard at Brunt. “Did Dukat contact you?”

The Ferengi snorted. “Of course Dukat contacted me; why else do you think I’d be here?”

Damar pursed his lips, considering. “Ferengi don’t do business for free. And health inspectors don’t fake reports without a bribe. What did he offer you?”

Brunt smirked. “Enough.”

When it was clear that Brunt would say no more on the matter, Damar went to the desk and pulled out a packet of papers. “Here is our previous report. I assume you’ll need that? Is there anything else you need.”

“No, this will do. I’ll see you around.” Brunt left the office, closing the door behind him.

When Brunt had gone, Damar collapsed into the desk chair, resting his head in his hands. Oh, this was such a _nightmare_. Those two dabo girls knew something was happening, and Quark knew, and now Brunt knew, and no doubt Deep Dish Nine had been contacted by the health department as well to notify them of a problem in the report. There was no way this would not end badly. If there ever were a day to bring in that kanar flask that he’d gotten on his trip back to Cardassia, this would be the day.

A knock at the office door disturbed his catastrophizing. The Second poked his head in. “Sir? I do not mean to disturb you, sir, but we could use your assistance out here.”

Grateful for the distraction, Damar followed the Second onto the floor. It was indeed a busy night, though the lobby was empty. No doubt the cold was keeping many people home this evening. The change in seasons always produced a spike in deliveries. Damar threw himself into the making of pizzas, hardly noticing as Inspector Brunt walked around the store, scribbling notes. The time flew by. It was nearing 9:00 when Brunt approached and tapped Damar on the shoulder. “I need to use your computer.”

Damar brought a hand up to wipe the sweat off his brow, leaving a flour streak through his hair. “You’re still here? I’d have thought you’d be done by now.”

“Do you want it done, or do you want it done right?” Brunt retorted. “Your computer . . .”

Damar led Brunt back to the office, where he typed in the password and logged on to the computer. “What do you need the computer for?”

“I’m going to alter the original copy on the health department database and download you a new one. If you could pull up the original file . ..”

Damar opened the file of their health report. Brunt made a shooing motion and moved toward the desk chair. “Now, if you’ll move, I can get to work. Go box up some more drugs or something, pizza boy.”

It was late when Damar wandered back into the office. Brunt still sat at the desk, concentrating intently. Damar stifled a yawn and knocked on the doorframe to get the Ferengi’s attention. “Listen, it’s almost midnight. We close in half an hour. Can’t you finish this on your own computer?”

“The less the report travels, the better, or you can believe I would have been gone long ago . . . There. Done.”

Brunt clicked the mouse one last time and swiveled in the desk chair, a satisfied look on his face. Damar moved closer to inspect the computer.

“What did you do?”

“I couldn’t even begin to explain the complexities of it to you, pizza boy, but I’ll give you the short version: I altered your original report in the HS database—not a lot, just enough to look like you passed. I gave you slightly higher marks on a couple of things. I had to change the time stamp on the report so it’ll look like the original, which is what took so long. But here’s the important part: when you send it in, if she has any questions, just argue that whatever failed report she saw must have come from somewhere else during the file mix-up. I can tell you a trade secret—for a price.” Brunt paused, hand open, expectant. Damar looked at him quizzically, then realization hit. Grumbling, he pulled a single bill out of his pocket. Brunt rolled his eyes. Damar heaved a sigh and pulled out four more singles, shoving the wad into Brunt’s waiting hand. Brunt grinned and continued: “We don’t actually know whether you’ve passed or failed an inspection until we go back to the office and tally up the points. We input the information into a program that counts them up for us. And I know this woman. She lives on her computer. It’s likely she got rid of her hand-written notes as soon as she made the digital copy. Just be convincing.”

“Oh really, is that all?”

Brunt laughed, getting up from the desk chair. “Relax. You’ll be fine. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Cardassians it’s that one should never underestimate their powers of deception.” He gathered his things together and headed for the door. “Good luck.”

“Wait,” Damar called as he was leaving. “Before you go . . . Just out of curiosity, what did Dukat offer you? To fake the report for us.”

Brunt smirked. “Half your paycheck.”

“What?!”

“For a year.”

* * *

 “Hello, this is Damar.”

“Damar, we have a problem. I need you at the store.”

“Dukat, it’s my day off.”

“It’s about the . . . mess.”

“ . . . Did you send the report? You didn’t send it. I left you a note. Did you follow the instructions on the note. Did the woman call yet. Did Third go home sick again? I told him to get his flu shot.”

“Damar. The woman didn’t call. I sent the report this morning. She sent us an e-mail in return.”

“About what?”

“I think you’d better come and read it for yourself.”

“. . . Fine.”

Damar arrived at the store to find Dukat in a stormy mood. He greeted Damar with a silent glare and pointed at the computer screen. Damar sat down at the desk to read the e-mail. No. No no no. No, this couldn’t be real. Not after all that had gone into this. No.

To:Skrain Dukat (dukat.sm@dominionspizza.com)  
From: Darlene Simmons (dsimmons@healthservices.alphacity.gov)  
Subject: Re: here is our report  
_I don’t know what your playing at over there, or who’s helping you, but the file you sent me_ **_is a FAKE_ ** _. A very good one. But a fake. Some of these things I might have overlooked, but there is no way I would have given you such high points for you’re store’s lobby. Not when there were crumbs on every surface and a coating of grease I could practically float on. I will be there on Thursday for the follow-up, and you better have things cleaned up by then, or you’re employee’s will be finding other places to work._

“What did you do, Damar?”

Damar sat back in the chair, stunned. “I didn’t do anything. The inspector—Brunt—came, and he walked around and he took some notes . . . no.”

“What.”

“No. No he didn’t. Oh, no.” Damar shuffled frantically through some papers on the desk.

“Didn’t what, Damar?”

Damar found what he was looking for, opened a file on the computer. His eyes flickered between the two, comparing. His heart sank into his stomach. “He did . . .”

“Did _what_ , Damar?”

“I had the Jem’Hadar deep clean the lobby yesterday afternoon. Brunt included the clean lobby marks from his walk-through instead of what was on the original report.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Dukat spoke, his voice soft, dangerous: “Damar, how could you?”

“How was I supposed to know Brunt was going to do that? I thought he was a professional! _You_ hired him.”

“I told you we wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“And I did what I thought was best for the store! And now it’s over, and it _failed_ , and we have a day and a half to clean it up. I don’t even know where to begin. Half of these things we won’t be able to do. Where am I supposed to get a refrigerator vent cover in a day and a half? How do I install a new handwashing sink on the floor in a day and a half? How do I get all of the Federation-mandated employee rights posters in a day and a half? Where do I put them? What happens if the Jem’Hadar discover we’re supposed to be paying them in actual money and not in ketracel-white? Does Weyoun realize the implications of all this? I better call the team and tell them all to find some slip-resistant shoes by Thursday.” Damar reached for the office phone.

“Damar . . .” Dukat stepped forward, head down, hands laced together in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it. Suddenly his entire demeanor shifted. He looked up at Damar, his eyes soft. “What’s done is done. I know you blame me. But I don’t intend to let us fail, and I especially don’t intend to let any of this reach the ears of our Jell-O friend.” He smirked, and the corners of Damar’s mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. “I won’t give Weyoun the satisfaction. Now, what can I do for you?”

Damar stared at him for a long moment. He knew Dukat was only saying this to save face, only trying to cajole his way back into Damar’s good opinion. But he also knew that this was as close as Dukat would come to an apology. And here was that damned sense of loyalty again, pushing him to _just forgive Dukat_ and let him help. Sometimes, transparent as his intentions were, Dukat knew just what to say. Damar hated him for it.

“You _will_ have to lift a finger, you know.”

“Anything for you, Damar.”

_Damn it_.

* * *

 “So this is it then.”

Friday morning brought Dukat and Damar to the break room table once again. They sat there in silence as Weyoun looked over the new health inspection report. He kept flipping back to the first page to look at the large black **C+** in the corner. Finally, he put the report down. “I must say I’m unimpressed. I had thought that a week’s time would have been more than enough to get this establishment cleaned up. And yet you still only scored a barely passing grade. I see there are ‘areas of improvement’ in many of the categories; you still have work to do, don’t you?” Damar and Dukat nodded their agreement. “Oh well, no matter. You passed. The Founder will be pleased to know this.”

“I’m sure she will,” Dukat replied. “We aim to please the Founder, after all.”

“Of course you do. Well, if you have nothing further to report, I’ll be on my way. Thank you for keeping me updated.” Weyoun stood up to leave. Damar made a gesture to stop him.

“Weyoun, wait. Before you go . . .” Damar headed over to the walk-in refrigerator and disappeared inside. He emerged a moment later with a plate covered in plastic wrap. “Dukat and I have something for you. To . . . show our gratitude for giving us this chance.”

“What is it?”

Damar placed the plate in Weyoun’s hands. “It’s a food. Don’t worry about the taste; it doesn’t taste like much. It’s the texture that’s really the most important part.”

Weyoun held the plate up to eye level, peering at the large donut-shaped mass of bright green beneath the plastic wrap. He wiggled the plate slightly. The green mass jiggled in response. Weyoun’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh, this is _fascinating_! What is it called?”

“It’s called Jell-O.”

“Jell oh. Jellllll. Jellowww. Even the word is delightful! Oh it’s _wonderful_! Thank you!” Weyoun beamed at the two before walking out of the break room.

When Weyoun had gone, Damar snorted. His mouth twitched into a grin. He cleared his throat, trying to stifle it, but soon he was leaning against the wall, laughing uncontrollably. After several minutes, Damar managed to calm himself enough to make his way back to the break room table. He sat down across from Dukat, still snickering.

Dukat stared at him, his eyes showing both amusement and confusion. “And what is so funny?” he asked.

“I was just thinking,” Damar said, between chuckles. “It’s too bad Weyoun has such a high tolerance for poisonous substances.”

“Why?”

“Because the strychnine I put in his Jell-O will only make him queasy.”


End file.
